


Slow Fire

by melannen



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Age Difference, Community: sizeofthatthing, D/s, Established Relationship, F/F, Magic, Object Penetration, Offscreen Kink Negotiation, Outdoor Sex, Painplay, Temperature Play, Uninformed Consent, Virginity Kink, anthropology kink, candlemas, implied interspecies voyeurism, misuse of good alcohol, sap, witchcraft kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22810852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melannen/pseuds/melannen
Summary: Amelia, bred and born to this country, was feeling the sap rise in her old bones with the new spring.
Relationships: Vivien Fay/Amelia Rumford
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3
Collections: Pornday





	Slow Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Started for this prompt on the original Dr. Who kinkmeme at livejournal, c. June 2008: [Vivien/Amelia, sex on the rocks](https://sizeofthatthing.livejournal.com/366.html?thread=268910).  
Finished for Pornday the 10th, February 2020. Never give up on a good wip, everyone! 
> 
> Any problems with this fic should be blamed on my collaborator, twelve years ago me, not current me who is much older and wiser.
> 
> Also I think this finally gets me a bingo on my last kink bingo card!

It was only a few days past Candlemas, but the sun had come out that morning and it was the first truly nice day since the autumn. Vivien spent the morning idly playing with some multi-spatial photographs she was still trying to figure out - but mostly watching with amusement as her companion restlessly opened and closed one scholarly book after another. Amelia, bred and born to this country, was feeling the sap rise in her old bones with the new spring. Finally, as the day turned to a golden afternoon, she shut one last book and stood up.

"No," she said, "It's far too lovely a day to stay shut in the cottage with dusty old ledgers for company: Vivien, what do you say to a picnic by the rocks?"

"I'd say that's a grand idea," replied Vivien, who was neither born nor bred to four seasons under one sky, but after long enough had rather got in the habit of them anyway.

"Splendid. Why don't you throw together some sandwiches, and I'll see if there's anything in the pantry that ought to come along."

Thus supplied, they each swung a bag over a shoulder and set out down the winding path from the cottage to the standing stones: the Nine Travellers, of which there were more than nine, but no-one had quite figured out how _many_ more (and Vivien wasn't inclined to tell.) On such a beautiful day even Amelia was disinclined to hold forth on the question. Instead she set her bag down in the lee of one of the stones, where a criss-cross of shadow had sheltered the last of the old year's snow from the sun.

She pulled out a heavy plaid blanket, and Vivien raised her perfectly-tended eyebrows. "It's not so cold as all that, Amelia - not unless you're planning to stay out till dawn."

Amelia laughed and tossed the blanket over the altar-stone, at the center of the circle, which lay slanted at just the right height to lounge on for a rest - or for other things. "The air's nice enough, but sunlight or not, the stones'll still be cold as a witch's tit - and besides, I'm not wearing any knickers."

"Amelia!" said Vivien.

"Well, there's very little point in wearing a skirt on a day like today if not to get a little breeze 'round your privates -- There! I knew you could smile. You're far too solemn for Spring, girl. I'm the one who's getting older every year."

Vivien looked her partner up and down: she was wearing a severely practical calf-length skirt in brown tweed, suited to her severely practical age and style, and the only breeze making it through that would have to be about as stiff as a dry martini. "Were you planning on doing anything to provide a breeze on your privates?" Vivien asked, with a grin starting to play around her lips.

"Certainly not!" she replied. "--not until after we've eaten." she added impishly. "What did you bring us?"

Vivien passed out the sandwiches and they sat, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder on the blanket covered stone, eating in companionable silence as a murder of crows settled on the trees down the way. Well, Vivien thought, the stones had certainly seen odder things in their time in England.

Amelia reached back into her bag and pulled out two tin cups, and a mason jar filled with cloudy red liquid.

"You brought the sloe wine!" Vivien exclaimed.

"Hmm," Amelia replied. "The very last of this year's harvest - it's been steeping since Bonfire Night. It seemed the proper day to finish it off - care for a drop?"

The sloe wine was already ice-cold from the snow, rich and strong as Amelia poured it off the sloes, brownish-red like old blood. They'd bottled it last year after the first frost, with Amelia's recipe that used cheap strong vodka and the absolute minimum of sugar, and Vivien could taste the bite of the alcohol, and the bitterness of the sloes, and the hint of cyanide under it all. They sat side by side, drinking it almost to the bottom, warming off of each other's heat and watching the crows wheel in the sky, and Vivien contemplated the idea of _contentment_.

Amelia pulled something else out of her bag of goodies - it was a pale wooden rod, about an inch and a half in diameter, smoothly polished and oiled with a deep spiral design carved around its length - it could, she supposed, have been described as a "wand", but the shape and size of it made its actual inspiration fairly obvious. Vivien raised her eyebrows at it.

"Blackthorn wood," said Amelia. "It's a replica of a stone one they found at Newgrange, not that they've put that one in the papers - Olive from up at Devil's End sent it to me. You remember Olive - dreadfully superstitious and far too fond of that horrible Murray woman, but she does have an eye for useful things -" She gave it a caressing glance and then set it carefully down beside her, out of Vivien's view in the shadow of the stone.

"And what use were you planning to make of it?" Vivien asked. She'd been half-expecting something of the sort, but hadn't bothered to speculate on details; Amelia had a grand imagination when it came to their games, and even Vivien was frequently surprised. The anticipation was starting to fizzle, though. She could imagine what that rod would feel like, very vividly. She had, in fact, used one not entirely unlike it, all those years ago. The Murray woman hadn't been _entirely_ wrong.

"The Murray woman and that dreadful Gardner and their friends have quite a lot to say about Imbolc, did you know," Amelia said speculatively, leaning back on her hands. "They claim that it was the date of one of the great fertility ceremonies - the divine marriage, where the Cailleach-hag of winter transformed into the Mother Goddess - they claim that the stone circles would be the sites of ceremonies where young virgins were ritually deflowered to beckon in the Spring."

"I hope you haven't become forgetful enough that you imagine I'm a virgin, what with Sunday last alone--"

Amelia favored her with a lecherous glance. "No. Even if by any vague chance you had been when we met, it certainly didn't last once I'd gotten my hands on you. And _in_ you. All the same. Would you care to help me re-construct a pagan ritual, Miss Fay?" She stood carefully and tucked the gin cups back away in the bag.

This particular stone circle had never had sex rites practiced in it, Vivian knew for a fact. But then, Amelia didn't believe in that dreadful Murray woman either, even so much as it was true: and the stones had certainly seen stranger things in their times. She stretched out luxuriously along the stone, already building to a pleasant anticipation: Amelia could be *quite* creative when she put her mind to it, oh yes. "I would be *delighted* to be of assistance, Dr. Rumford," she said.

"Oh, excellent! Let's see - stretch out just like that - yes - your feet flat on the ground," she picked the rod up carefully and stowed it somewhere out of the way - "Oh you *are* a picture, splayed out like that, just for me to enjoy--"

The stone was just a bit too high off the ground for her to be comfortable in that position, her legs stretched uncomfortably, and the pull of gravity with the slope of the stone leaving her feeling slightly off-balance even as she reclined, but she could feel the deep chill of the stone through the blanket (not one of _her_ stones, thank you - that would be a bit outre even for Vivien - but she couldn't help a pleasant frisson at the knowledge that they were all watching, the uncomprehending weight of that inhumanoid regard pressing her against the stone table as effectively as any binding— they wouldn't understand what was happening, probably, or why anyone might believe it mattered. But they would watch all the same.)

Amelia said "lift," and pulled down Vivien's pants and trousers all in one motion, and the February air was shockingly cold against the sudden bare skin. Amelia was peering down at her curiously. "No, you're right - that wouldn't pass for a virgin very well at all --" and she slipped in two fingers, with a practiced motion, to test the width of the opening. Vivian had been getting wet since the rod came out, and she made an encouraging moan at the feel of fingers scissoring inside her - but Amelia pulled back instead.

"Do you know," she said, "I don't think that will do at all. Far too well-used. Fortunately, we're not actually ancient priestesses, there's room to improvise." She stepped away, and Vivien just begun to sit up to see what she was up to when Amelia swiped her fingers into her, and she nearly shrieked.

"What *is* that?" she asked, when she'd caught her breath. It stung all over, as if her vulva were scratched in a thousand tiny places by thorns, and then a second later started to burn, spreading and hot.

"Infusion of sloes in spirits of wine," Amelia said. She scooped another dram of the sludge out of the bottom of the jar, and this time she slipped it right in on two fingers. Vivien breathed in, hard. She could feel the muscles spasming against Amelia's fingers as she worked the concoction all the way in, unable to avoid the torturous contact, and then Vivien was left bereft and on fire inside when she pulled went back for more. Viven desperately needed to do something - scratch, rub, *touch* - against the sensation, but she knew better than to bring her hands into play when Amelia was in this mood. She barely had time to arch her back, trying to angle down against the soothing chill of the stone, before Amelia was back.

"It's an old English remedy," Amelia said, pressing her flat with one hand and calmly slathering a bit more with the other, "for emergency restoration of virginity." She ran two fingers of her left hand down along the labia, feather-light, and everything visceral in Vivien fluttered and strained toward that touch even as her mind warned it away, the fire of the sloes and the vodka narrowing all of her concentration down to that few square inches of flesh: and Amelia pressed two fingers in again, slowly, and it _hurt_. Vivien felt herself drawn tight around the intrusion, and dry, dry enough that the rub of flesh against flesh was yet another burn.

"Ah, yes," Amelia said. "Much better. Tight as the devil's arsehole. I think you'll do. If you find matters satisfactory, as I do."

At Vivien's whimper "yes" she replaced the fingers with the heel of her hand, pressing down and rubbing just enough to turn the sensations from an unbearable torment to an exquisite one, as she leaned over and retrieved the blackthorn rod from where it must have been sitting innocently in the bag at the foot of the stone.

She held the rod up contemplatively, but positioned where Vivien could easily see it: the thick dark rod, and Amelia with a sloe-stained hand incarnadine around it, backlit against the blue February sky and radiating surety, and her other hand moving against Vivan's cunt just enough but too slowly for any real relief. "If we were doing this properly," Amelia said, "I ought to have a horned mask, and a harness, and that lot, so you can pretend I'm a priapic god. But I always thought that sort of thing so awkward and undignified, don't you think, when one can just use one's hand?" She lifted the fingers that were still moving against Vivian's cunt away, and before Vivian could react, pushed the wand into her strong and swift.

This time Vivian did scream. "Bloody- fucking-" It was freezing goddamn cold, and she hadn't expected it. Amelia must have had the rod packed directly in the snow all this time, to cool it without Vivien noticing. And it _hurt_; between the sloes and the cold without realizing it she had tightened up (tight as the devil's arsehole, if Amelia _would_ insist), and the rod was a solid shaft of bright pain piercing right through her core, almost as new and alien as the first time she had done this so very, very long ago.

"All the medieval accounts are in agreement that the phallus used in such ceremonies was markedly cold," Amelia said. "I doubt, of course, it would have been actively chilled in the absence of snow, though a stone carving stored underground, or near a sacred spring, as some scholarship has suggested--"

Vivien, at this exact moment, could not care less about Amelia's scholarship, but her soliloquy gave Vivien time to slowly adjust to the rod within, and that was welcome enough, even as the slowly mellowing burning in her vulva made her cry out for any touch. She'd clenched down instinctively against the sudden cold, but the wooden rod had no give, and with the already-abused tissues she wouldn't be surprised to feel bruises tomorrow. But the wood was warming quickly enough to near body temperature, and now she took a moment to be surprised at the sheer girth of it: it had looked only mildly oversized on the outside, but it felt huge against her tightened tissues, as wide as a woman's fist and stretching her all the way in.

She took a deep breath and focused her eyes on the pale sky, only a few ravens in the distance breaking the winter monotony. "Amelia, _do_ something already," she said.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" she asked.

Vivien clenched down again and considered it, but she was _dry_ \- astringent, she remembered belatedly, sloes drew moisture away. As delightful as it was to have something girthy and textured to clench around, anything more might move over the line from fun to damage. "I think maybe not. You ought to treat me as gently as the virgin you've made me," she said, not believing for one second than Amelia would take her up on it - this did not seem to be a day for going gently.

"Hmph," said Amelia. "Well, if you insist." She nudged the rod in and out a bit, gently - it gripped more than slid - and then reached over and took the last mouthful of the wine. Then she kneeled down and licked, the wine dribbling everywhere, as she pushed the rod suddenly one barleycorn farther in, and Vivien _screamed_ as the pain and the pleasure crossed each other widdershins and she came hard and felt the rod in her even harder as she came and then came down, gasping, still feeling the rod wide and immovable inside her and the burning becoming rapidly less titillating and more irritating in the aftermath.

Amelia gave her a minute before asking after her health.

"I'm fine," Vivien said, and tried to push herself up on her elbows. "Get that thing out of me already."

Amelia pursed her lips, and reached back into that bag of many wonders to pull out a damp cloth, _not_ ice-cold this time, and wiped her down. It was remarkably soothing, and after a few moments of that, Vivien pushed the rod out easily enough, and then Amelia helped her re-dress and pulled her up.

"Well, you've ruined that blanket," Vivien said, turning. There was a spreading red blot on in where the sloe wine had seeped in.

"Ruined?" Amelia said, hands on her hips. "Dozens of my colleagues would tell you that a woman's proofs of virginity are a sacred ritual object, powerful and valuable. We've improved it, I would say. Perhaps I'll make it into a throw pillow."

There wasn't actually any blood on the blanket, Vivien was fairly certain, but she was also fairly certain that if she brought this up, Amelia would go into a dissertation about the Law of Sympathy and semiotics and some such nonsense. "I hadn't realized this was my wedding night," she said instead. "In that case, shouldn't we take care of you as well? Although I'm afraid I haven't anything that elaborate prepared."

"No need," Amelia said. "And, at any rate, no time. The bird-botherers' club from the village will be by here in -" she checked her watch - "About ten minutes, unless they're running off-schedule. You can make it up to me when we get back to the cottage."

"Amelia!" Vivien said. The _stones_ watching was one thing, but that gaggle of staid busybodies was something else entirely. And people thought _Vivien_ was the scandalous one!

"What?" Amelia asked.

Vivien gave up. "Can I use the rod on you?" She was still very, very aware of her vulva, in a way that only really good sex or the promise of really good sex could do. The walk home was going to be interesting. She was fairly sure she could come up with some sort of proper repayment.

"If you're volunteering to be the one to clean it," she said, folding the soiled blanket over one arm. "And you use lubrication - some of us aren't as young and virginal as we once were."

Vivien shook her head and let herself smile.

By the rules of some of the cultures who had lived here, doing what they had done in the shadow of the stones was enough after all to have made them married. By the rules of some of the others they'd been married already for some time. By some rules, of course, no relationship Vivien had with any mayfly creature on this flyspeck planet could have any significance at all.

But she saluted the Lord of the Stones respectfully as she went by, just in case. He had witnessed what he had witnessed.

(And she would find a new throw pillow in the sitting room a few weeks later. The embroidery made the stain look like a decorative dye, but she would know better every time she saw it. And so would Amelia.)


End file.
